Page 63 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘Emily bought a place here ten years ago, with her partner.’
‘Oh?’ Suddenly, and I have no idea why, I’m feeling warmer towards her.
‘Yes.’ She smiles. ‘Came out here on holiday, and by our third visit we’d found a place down on the coast and bought it.’
‘Lovely,’ I say.
‘Well, it was, until we split. But there was no way I was going to sell the place. I love it here. I love everything Sicilian.’ She looks at Luca.
So, no partner and obviously very keen on Luca.
‘Emily divides her time between London and here. She has contacts there, high-end shops and businesses, restaurants and consortiums that she sells my lemons directly into. It’s because of her that I can do this.’ He nods to the lemon grove below.
Emily looks at the wedding dress plans once more.
‘You’ll have to do mine when I finally find Mr Right, Luca.’ She smiles widely, and I could swear he blushes, before glancing at me and then at the floor, at a bit of dust he brushes with the toe of his shoe, his hair fallen over his eyes like curtains on the outside world.
‘And what is this?’ She reaches out a red-nailed hand and touches the bottle on the table.
‘It’s verdello limoncello. Zelda has made it for her wedding; for the toast, to long and happy lives together.’
And for a moment, I envisage us all raising our glasses, to each other and to Etna and her snowy, smoky top, happy in the knowledge that love is alive and well in Città d’Oro.
‘Would you like to try some?’ Luca picks up the bottle, ever the perfect host. ‘Zelda, is that okay?’
‘Of course,’ I say, holding out a hand.
Luca pours the green liquid into a third glass.
‘Zelda? Another?’ He holds the bottle over my glass and his eyes sparkle, making me laugh.
‘Oh, go on,’ I say, and he pours one for me and one for him.
‘To love,’ he says, and nods first to me and then to Emily, and we all raise our glasses and then sip. ‘Marriage should always be about love,’ he says, arching an eyebrow.
But I do love Lennie. And the wedding will give us the home we want, the fresh start, the new life. It’s about protecting what we have. Am I sounding like Luca’s father? I wonder.
A silence falls. Only the birds in the lemon grove can be heard, and a donkey braying in the distance, along with a cockerel from next door. Luca looks at Emily, who looks at her glass. Then slowly she raises her eyes, and I’m ready to hear that it’s nice, but not her kind of thing. She strikes me as a high-end Prosecco lady.
‘This is amazing,’ she says, her wide white smile lighting up the rest of her face. She takes another sip, and I can’t help but feel pleased and much warmer towards her.
We all sip again.
‘How did you make it?’
‘It’s a secret recipe.’ Luca steps in. ‘Handed down from my grandmother. It is the taste of home.’ He lifts his glass and holds it up in the sunlight. ‘It is Sicily in a glass.’
Emily smiles.
‘Do you mind?’ She reaches for the bottle, her glass practically empty.
‘No, go ahead,’ I say, and she picks up the bottle, puts the cork firmly in it and then slides it into her big leather bag.
What a cheek! I think, outraged. But I pride myself on not saying it out loud, and focus very hard on the glass in my hand. I guess that’s Sicilian hospitality for you. I think of all the generous gifts of food we’ve had left at the farmhouse. I suppose it’s just an accepted state of affairs, woven into the fabric of the island’s way of life, and that, I remind myself, is one of the reasons I love it and am determined to stay and make it my home.
‘I must be off,’ Emily says. ‘I just wanted to check that everything was okay with the orders whilst I was here.’
‘Yes, of course,’ says Luca. He holds a hand out to me. ‘It’s much easier getting everything picked now that Zelda is here to help me.’
